The Final Hunger Games
by littlemissmockingjay
Summary: What if the final Hunger Games with Capitol children were really held? DISCONTINUED, PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE.
1. Rosaline Snow

Rosaline Snow's POV

As I slouch on the stiff, lumpy cot of the shelter, the grainy television buzzes to life. Ugh. Mandatory viewing. The reporter, Janice Jackman, flickers onscreen, standing in the newly-built Justice Building of the Capitol. This doesn't surprise me. Janice has pretty much been reporting 24/7 for the past few weeks. Janice's dull mouse brown hair is in it's usual sloppy bun, and her beady eyes still have that rodent-like feel to them. She's still wearing her drab, generic suit, and her face is still droopy and free of alterations. Janice Jackman is one of the world's most boring people. She never changes. I begin to tune her monotonous commentary out, and my eyelids began to droop. I think I might sleep through this mandatory viewing.

Janice drones on, and I begin to think I hate her voice more than any voice in the world. More than my stylist Serania's shrill, annoying squeal. More than my stupid grandfather Coriolanus Snow's slithery snarl. I hope that a voice will replace Janice's. Any voice, I don't care unless it's not hers. And suddenly, as if on cue, it does. President Paylor's authoritative voice interrupts my thoughts. "As decided in a vote before the passing of former president Alma Coin, we will proceed with a final and symbolic Hunger Games. There will be on twist to the Games- the tributes will be the Capitol children aged 12-18 most directly related to the Capitol citizens who held the most power. "

I feel like someone has just clubbed me with a mace or whatever they used in the Hunger Games. I choke on the air and my heart kicks into high gear, beating out of my chest. I have to get out of here. My grandfather was the former president Coriolanus Snow, the president who oppressed and starved the Districts, murdered their children year after year. He held the most power in the Capitol before the rebellion. I am Rosaline Isabelle Snow, grand daughter of former President Snow and as of right now, a tribute in the Hunger Games.


	2. One Perfect White Rose

Steven Carter POV

I grumble as I head down the damp, dimly-lit hallway to Room 153. Inside awaits the rather snooty Rosaline Snow; I hate dealing with her. She's a bratty snob. But I am a security guard, and dealing with her is my job. I have to collect her and bring her to the new Capitol for the Hunger Games. She'll probably die in there, and then I won't have to see her anymore. However, for these final hours, I am stuck with her. As my hand encloses around the cold metal doorknob, I steel myself for the cursing, yelling, and icy stares I will surely receive from Rosaline.

When the door creaks open, I am shocked at what I see. Rosaline is collapsed on her cot. Her white-blonde hair is splayed messily on her pillow, and tears trickle down the spidery, intricate silver tattoos on her pale cheeks. Her eyes are shut, and you can see the tiny, starry diamonds implanted behind her eyelashes. This is odd. Normally every strand of her hair would be styled perfectly. Normally her emerald eyes would be fixated on me, glowing with sullen rebellion. This is not a normal situation though. "Rosaline, get up. We have to take you to the Capitol." I say gruffly. Rosaline'e eyes flutter open. She looks at me with tears in her eyes.  
"What? For the Hunger Games?" She asks, her voice choked by tears. I nod. "Why me? It was my grandfather's fault! I never did anything! It's not my fault! Please don't take me there...to the cruel, cruel Capitol." She pleads, the tears now running freely down her cheeks. Her emerald eyes widen and her ruby lips quiver slightly. She looks to be the very picture of innocence. I know better; what thoughts lie beneath those big, innocent green eyes.

"Don't play these games with me, Rosaline. You know I won't fall for your puppy-dog act. " I tell her roughly. She blinks, and those emerald eyes harden into shards of ice. Okay. Take me to the Capitol for these Games. Just let me get my token." Rosaline replies coldly, getting to her feet and raking her spindly fingers through her silvery-blonde tresses.  
"Token?" I echo, confused and suspicious. "Yes, token, you beefy idiot. Every tribute gets one." She answers snarkily. "Rosaline, if you're planning something, remember. The board will carefully screen each token and can take it away at any time. " I caution. She's not listening. She's already searching for her token.

Rosaline returns in a few minutes, an enigmatic smile playing on her full, ruby-red lips. "I have my token." She says, her eyes glinting triumphantly.  
"What is it?" I inquire, genuinely curious to what the little she-devil has decided on. Is it a ring hiding a toxic spike? A vial of poison? In answer, she holds out a too-perfect white rose.

**A/N: Sorry! I know these chapters are really short, but this is kind of just a prologue. Once we get into the games, I promise, the chapters will be a lot longer. Thank you to Arrowson for the very kind review. It really brightened up my day! :) Please remember to review! Reviews are like sweet, creamy hot chocolate on a cold winter's day!**


	3. Aaron Carmichaels' District Tour

**A/N: Thanks a bunch to brianne135531 for the super, super kind review! :) I'll remember your suggestions, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! To clarify, Rosaline and Aaron were both in an underground District 13 shelter. Oh yeah, sorry for the INSANELY LATE update. I've been meaning to post this for a while, but I've kind of been short on time. :( Oh, and um...please don't be too harsh. This is my first fic, and this is pretty much my first long chapter. Thanks for reading! One final thing. I wanted them to end with District 12, because in my mind the new Capitol is near District 12, but if they went straight there, they wouldn't get to see the rest of the Districts. **

Aaron Carmichaels POV

As I'm escorted to the tribute train, I can't help but gasp in awe. I know I should regard my current situation as a death sentence, but...it's just so...mind blowing to see the inside of the train I had seen roll into the Capitol both in real life and in my nightmares. I've always dreamt of seeing the inside of a tribute train. Of course, in my dreams, I was always a courageous, valiant rebel, setting the tributes free. In my dreams, I was never the tribute.

I walk slowly into my tribute compartment, taking in everything. The clean, soft, royal blue carpeting is like a cloud compared to the cold stone floor of the shelter, and sunlight streams in through the gleaming windows. The blue couches look luxurious and plush, and are a welcome relief from the stiff, lumpy cots of the shelter. The place is rather optimistic, despite the fact that basically every other person who has been in here is dead now. It gives off a comforting vibe, and I begin to relax as I flop onto the couch closest to the window. That's when I notice the girl seated in the couch across mine.

I recognize the girl as Rosaline Snow, the grand daughter of ex-President Snow. Even though her grandfather and my father, his right hand advisor, worked closely, this is the first time I've really seen her up close. She's quite beautiful, even with the scowl on her face. Her green eyes are as cold and hard as shards of ice. Her full red lips are pursed into a thin line, and her perfectly shaped eyebrows knit together. She blinks, and I see the tiny diamonds that sparkle on her eyelashes. They match the glowing silver tattoos on her pale cheeks. "What are you looking at?" She snaps scornfully. I quickly look away and direct my attention outside the spotless windows. It really is an eye opening experience to see the Districts I've only glimpsed in pictures.

We start at District 1. This is the least damaged of the Districts, and it has always been one of the most attractive. Soaring silver skyscrapers gleam in the afternoon sun, and the buildings and factories all sparkle radiantly. The people all wander carefree around the glittery District, dressed in fabulous fashions and dripping with diamonds and other jewels. Its Justice Building is an ostentatious and beautiful castle of polished marble, and like the people, it practically drips with glorious diamonds. I have to look away because the light bounces off of it, and it hurts my eyes. After it nearly blinds me, I promise myself to not look out the window until we get to Two.

My mouth drops open when we get to District 2. It's so different from District 1. The people are remarkably buisnesslike, and scurry from building to building. They're dressed differently too, in presed slacks, crisp labcoats, and sensible shoes. The buildings aren't glitzy, in fact, they're quite simple. District 2's largest buildings are hospitals or military strongholds, and are tall, well-kept, and boring. The rest of the buildings are squat and neat. The Justice Building is an pristine grey building. District 2's never been very attractive, but then again, I doubt these formal, busy people care.

District 3 is a city buzzing with movement. The people stumble around, immersed in their high tech electronic gadgets. Wires snake around every corner, and the buildings glow in bright neon colours. It surprises me how much they have rebuilt, considering the rebellion was only a few months ago. Yup, they have rebuilt _and _improved. Their Justice Building is a sleek black skyscraper that rises into the blue sky. Hot pink, electric blue, lime green, and bright yellow wires curl around it like vines, casting a rainbow of light over the city. Techno music reverberates around the District like a heartbeat. It seems the once weak, shabby District is quickly becoming a glossy, urban one.

As usual, District 4 is beautiful. A sunset paints the sky in tones of pink, orange, and yellow. The sun reflects of the ocean, which shimmers deep blue. The sand is a silky cream colour, and gentle waves lap the shore. The soft green grass rustles in the salty breeze that blows, and I'm struck by the beauty of it all. I long to throw open my window and feel the fresh, salty sea air on my face. The people are relaxed as they walk in their District, smiling and as calm as their mellow ocean. The buildings are made of blue tinted sea stone, and they look somehow pretty. The Justice Building is made of the same rustic sea stone, and is engraved with images of ocean voyages and beautiful mermaids. I kind of wish I had grown up in District 4 instead of the Capitol.

District 5 is the food District. The tantalizing smells of food all mingle together, forming a scent so strong and delicious it wafts into our tribute train. I breathe it in, closing my eyes dreamily as I imagine the divine foods that are being cooked right now. I catch a whiff of savoury, juicy barbeque and see a tiered, enormous cake smothered in sweet icing and edible decorations. I suspect the laughing, happy people strolling around are all foodies, chatting about new recipes and restaurants. The buildings are all simple and quite generic, but the scrumptious scent makes up for it. Mmmm...I'm hungry.

I see the elegant museums of District 6, which besides the houses and Justice Building, are pretty much the only buildings. Elaborately carved stone fountains spout crystalline water and dot the cobblestone roads. I see people painting detailed portraits of each other and landscape scenes. I almost laugh at how pretentious the whole thing is, with the sophisticatedly dressed people and refined museums. Well, what should I expect from the art district?

You can hardly see District 7 through the thick layers of trees. People whistle cheerfully, lugging lumber as they walk. As I suspected, the buildings are rustic and made of wood. Trees are everywhere, and the children play in the forests, giggling and darting through the trees. The housewives laugh and talk amongst themselves as they watch their joyous children, and the fathers all smile warmly as they load their lumber off to be carted to the Capitol in exchange for money. You can't possibly deny their obvious joy, and as the train rumbles to the next District, I feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

District 8 looks like it was quilted together. Every house is a different size, hue, with different patterned curtains. The Justice Building has a knitted carpet leading up the stairs, and detailed tapestries depicting the rebellion hang regally from it's pillars. The few people who aren't inside sewing walk through town talking and admiring each others handmade clothing. The people could be quilted together too. I spot one couple walking hand in hand, grinning and chatting. The man is wearing corduroy trousers and a top made of random patches of fabrics, and the woman is wearing a dress made of many intertwined satin ribbons in a rainbow of colours. Well, at least they know how to express themselves.

District 9 produces electricity. You can see all of the plants, each utilizing the most advanced technology. Sparks fizzle above the plants, and the houses are all brightly lit. It's very bright, even at this late hour. The people run about, rushing from plant to plant, getting in a few words of rushed conversation. I get bored, and eventually turn to the now cold dinner in front of me. I eat it slowly, checking the window to see if we're in the next District yet.

Cattle graze the grassy fields of District 10. Casually dressed farm people tend the cattle. They seem pretty cool and collected, mellow and unrushed, just like the cattle. Their clothes are made of cattle hide and leather, and their houses are more like farms. You can't see their Justice Building from here, but it doesn't matter to me. I just continue watching the cattle.

District 11 is lush and stunning. Placid ponds glimmer in the twilight, and the sky has turned milky blues, purples, and pinks. Mockingjays chirp and sing back and forth increasingly elaborate songs. Children play in the orchards, eating the ripe fruits that dangle from the trees. The people are contentedly strolling around, smiling softly to one another. The houses are plain, but have that natural beauty District 11 radiates. I watch cheerily as the people laugh, play, and have a good time. I smile to myself as we roll out of District 11 into the final District.

District 12 is still a bit destroyed. The meadow is greening up, but soot still dusts the ground. People wander around the District, looking hopeful and restrained. I began to feel tired, but that's when I see the sight that makes my eyes fly open and jolt me awake. This young woman is special. Why? I don't know. While she's pretty, she's not extraordinarily beautiful. She's not doing anything special, just watering the primroses beside her house. When she turns around, I study her carefully. Her shiny dark hair ripples down her back, and her hard grey eyes glint in the moonlight. She begins to hum, and that's when it hits me. This woman is the girl on fire. This woman is the mockingjay. This is Katniss Everdeen.

**A/N: So, what did you think of our young rebel's tour of the districts...and his encounter with Katniss herself? Review please! Reviews are crisp autumn days with complete with gold and red leaves and endless blue skies! :)**


	4. READ ME!

Hey everyone!

Thank you to all of you who like this story. Unfortunately, I am discontinuing it on this account. To see the rewritten and better version of this story, go to my new account, "XxSnowPrincessXx", and click on the story, "The Final Hunger Games: Capitol Style."

Once again, THANKS A BUNCH!

Hugs!

-littlemissmockingjay/Marie/XxSnowPrincessXx


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